


To Know Your Touch

by Nunonabun



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 11:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14331690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nunonabun/pseuds/Nunonabun
Summary: nurseturner asked: “For the smutty prompts, 8 or 25 for Turnadette, you can choose which one you like best" and a sunglasses-clad visitor to my inbox asked: “If you have some time, mind jotting me a number 20 or a good and smutty #25? Love reading your work!”The little fic answers the prompt both asks have in common.





	To Know Your Touch

 

His collar had come unfolded, Shelagh noted as she directed Mrs. Brownell to Nurse Miller. She let the urge to quickly walk over, straighten it, and kiss the spot where his lovely hair started wash over her. Such impulses often cropped up at work, where she unfortunately could not indulge them. They also had a somewhat frustrating tendency to linger in her mind. She hadn’t expected that when she’d decided to help him and Nonnatus move to their new locations. 

She had assumed that now that she was living the life that was right for her, and that they were able to be together in private, her mind would be clearer during her working hours. She had prided herself on her ability to keep things around her in order, but she supposed she ought to rein in that pride and remember that she had learned in the past year that such order did not always extend to her own mind. Nor did it extend to her body, though that was certainly something she kept under control at work. At home, on the other hand, she found she enjoyed their unconscious contact; hands seeking and caressing each other when listening to the radio or reading, quick pecks upon leaving or entering the flat, sinking into silent embraces in quiet moments. Those were, she mused, the natural continuation of what they’d previously communicated only with their eyes.

Dr. Turner and his rumpled coat disappeared behind the curtain of an exam booth, breaking Shelagh’s train of thought. She blinked and refocused herself on her work. Further thoughts about tactile communication could wait for that evening. For now, she had patients to organize and urine to test.  _That_  would certainly help curb her less-than-professional reflections.

—

Jimmie Rodgers sang gently in the sitting room as Shelagh softly closed Timothy’s bedroom door. She found Patrick in the kitchen pouring them a pot of evening tea, and her face broke into a smile as she noticed that once again, his collar was askew, exposing the oddly patterned neck of his tie. This time, once the kettle was safely set aside, she crept up behind him and raised herself up on her tiptoes to right it and press a kiss to his neck as she’d thought of doing several hours beforehand. He clasped her arms where they’d wound themselves around his midriff, holding her to him as she rested her head against his back. She closed her eyes, running her mind over every point of contact, etching this preciously common moment in her memory.

Slowly she loosened her hold, trailing up the stiff, buttoned placket of his shirt and slipping two fingers through to trace circles into the softness of his tummy. A shiver passed up his back, under her cheek, and his own hand sought the curve of her hip, rubbing up and down it in agreement with her unspoken suggestion. She could feel his breathing accelerating, whether due to his own mounting desire or surprise that she was initiating such intimacy outside of their bedroom, she wasn’t sure.

Shelagh slipped her other hand under the waistband of his trousers, his heat guiding her blind search as it approached its destination. She took her time, cataloguing the sensations she encountered; smooth fabric against the back of her hand, softer as she reached his pants. The skin under the pads of her fingers fine just under his hip, wiry hair obscuring that sensation as she drew her fingers along to find him half-hard, waiting for her touch. He braced himself on the counter as she obliged, stroking him lightly, enjoying the sensation of feeling him harden under the silky skin. Patrick groaned as she encircled him and increased her rhythm, but placed a hand over hers, stilling her mouvements. He turned to kiss her, reassuring her of his appreciation of her actions. Catching her freed hand in his, he led her away to the couch.

“I want to feel you too,” he murmured, drawing her down to the gold cushions, his hand creeping up her leg. His fingers traced slowly up the inside of her thigh, allowing her time to disagree. She wanted this just as much, to enjoy his touch and know he was thinking what she had been moments before, she explained silently through their kiss, opening to him and allowing their tongues to meet.

Yet they could both savour the two forms of pleasure at the same time, she reminded herself. She cupped him where he lay against her thigh, pressing against his left shoulder convey what she wanted. He shifted himself in acknowledgement, his erection bobbing a few centimetres above where his delicate fingers were causing her own perception of sensation to paradoxically sharpen and become fuzzy.

She resumed her previously abbreviated ministrations, her thumb rubbing along his tip in response to his thumb’s attention to the reliable, breathtaking arousal brought on by her clitoris. His hips rutted against her palm as his breath gusted past her ear, his enthusiasm exciting her mind as his fingers stroked her body taut. The maelstrom of sensation swept her over the edge as she felt him jerk and release his own tension.

They knew they would have to clean up, to tend to the tea and the scratching record, but for now they savoured the awareness of being cherished and having tended to one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Send kind thoughts to the Turners' couch folks, it's seen a lot.


End file.
